


glowing embers

by asephear



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More tags to come!, Samurai, Slow Burn, i cant think of anything else to tag, kageyama is a samurai for the shogun!, not accurate to history, samurai au baby!!, uhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25410490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asephear/pseuds/asephear
Summary: The fight is over in little time, though - a few sharp aims, and the three ronin are down, the samurai sheathing their weapons and preparing to dispose of the bodies.The excitement chimes throughout Hinata’s body. Samurai are amazing.-There is nothing more that Hinata wants than to become a samurai.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. one step forward

**Author's Note:**

> *i changed the ages of the characters to 19 years old instead of 17, just because i felt it was more suitable! thanks :)
> 
> my return to writing!! i have been writing - though much less - but nothing i felt i wrote i wanted to post, however this idea has been stuck in my head for who knows how long and i need to share it with the world. this is definitely NOT historically accurate - im sorry!!! - and it will not be true to history. its also super slow-burn (at least, the most slow burn ive ever written eek!! but i dont write a lot of slow burn DD:)!! so sorry D: also! i understand that ancient japan is very different to how i will portray it in this story, so please, do not take this fic as a representation of ancient japan AT ALL!! i simply love samurai and haikyuu and wanted to combine the two :)
> 
> anyway! haikyuu has ended and im emotional, so this story will be my love letter to the show and the manga. i hope u will all enjoy this journey!
> 
> not beta read

Incoherent yelling rings throughout the streets, interrupting the quiet chatter that usually fills the air.

Upon the unfamiliar - yet not completely rare - sound, townsfolk scuttle to their homes and bolt the doors behind them, sliding open the windows and peering through them. The streets quickly lay bare, and, other than the distant shouting, the dirt floor breathing light dust is the only sign of life.

This does not last very long at all, though, as the abrupt and loud opening of a door pierces the ghost-like streets, and bright sunlight illuminates a bush of red hair; however, this is also cut short, with multiple hands quickly grabbing the back of the redhead’s kimono and dragging him back inside the shop, their fast reaction a sign of common occurrence.

“Shouyou, how many times must I tell you?” scolds his mother in a hushed voice, locking the door before turning and facing the boy, her hands on her hips and her expression exuding irritation. “Do _not_ go outside when this happens! Stop trying to get yourself involved!”

Hinata Shouyou blinks sheepishly - his escape attempt was so easily foiled! - hoping that’s enough of an apology. He feels someone softly headbutt into his ribcage, and looks down to see his younger sister wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

She peeks upwards, pouting, eyes watering. “Nii-chan, _please,_ stop doing that!”

Her voice wobbles at the edges, and it makes Hinata feel guilty enough that he almost decides to stop trying to run out. He pats her on the head. “Sorry, Natsu-”

The sound of yelling gets nearer, and the echo of heavy footsteps starts to get louder. Hinata’s dad, already discreetly staring out the window, gestures for the rest of them to come look.

The family quietly stare at the bare streets, but the slow stirring of the dust suggests nearby action. Natsu tiptoes to look outside, her tiny hands grasping the ledge of the window. His mother takes one sweeping glance outside, and then buries her head in her hands. “This never gets any less terrifying,” comes out as a muffled statement.

“It’s been relatively quiet for the past few weeks,” murmurs his father, still peering, “so I suppose this is to be expected.”

“Do they _have_ to fight on the village streets?” asks his mother, and she’s back to peeping outside the window, though her face is contorted with concern. “Families live here - _children_ live here!” 

As if on cue, Natsu retracts her hands, and sinks her face into her father’s thigh.

Still looking outside, the opposite house slides open their shoji a bit more, and a face appears. “Hinata-san!” calls out the man, his voice a whisper-shout, “Your son - Shouyou-kun - he just ran out!”

The three immediately turn at that, but the building is empty. The previously closed window on the other side of the door sits wide open, and the hot air breezes in.

Natsu starts crying.

-

Hinata tumbles out of the window, and his knees scrape across the floor, the dirt cushioning his fall. When he was younger, escaping through small gaps like these came at an ease, but now it’s a rather tight squeeze, and it takes all of his skill to leave quietly and quickly.

As soon as he’s on the ground he’s running - clumsily dusting off his kimono, he weaves underneath the window that his parents are looking out of, sticking as close to the wall as he possibly can, and then breaks off in a quick sprint. Sasaki-san - the owner of the small cake shop opposite them - clearly caught sight of him, but that’s okay. Hinata is sure to be out of reach by the time his family is notified.

He bolts towards the sound of the commotion, and as soon as he spies the flutter of fabric and the blade of a katana around a corner, he darts into a nearby alleyway, hiding behind scattered boxes. The noises are a lot louder and a lot clearer, and a few figures dash past the alleyway, before two more figures clad in grey jump onto the backs of them, pushing them down with their katanas piercing the cloth of the haoris.

_Samurai!_

The thrill of watching a samurai fight is never old, and Hinata’s heart races as he fixes his eyes on the scene before him. The other people - ronin, most likely, from the two swords they are each wielding - manage to break free, and they scramble up, katanas held in fighting stances. The samurai wield their own katanas with just as much confidence, and charge for the group of ronin. Katanas clash against each other, and the screech of metal scraping cuts through the air. Dissatisfied with his view, Hinata quickly looks around, and then heaves himself onto the roof of the neighbouring house, using the boxes as support. The fight is over in little time, though - a few sharp aims, and the three ronin are down, the samurai sheathing their weapons and preparing to dispose of the bodies.

The excitement chimes throughout Hinata’s body. _Samurai are amazing._

Just as the two samurai are leaving, though, one of them grips his shoulder and staggers. “Ah,” he hisses, removing his hand - _is that blood?_ “I think they got my shoulder.”

Hinata pushes himself to the very edge of the roof, trying to catch a glimpse of his hand - _is that really blood?_ \- and finally identifies the face of the injured samurai. It’s Akiteru of the Tsukishima household - _but he’s meant to be in Kyoto right now! What’s he doing back here?_ Hinata edges closer; maybe it’s _not_ Akiteru, but it’s him without a doubt, his blond hair slick with sweat, and the realisation causes Hinata to lose his balance and topple over the roof, grappling uselessly for purchase before crashing onto the floor.

The two bushi start at the sound, and, injuries momentarily forgotten, Akiteru walks over to check on the boy. The unusual vibrancy of the head of hair can only mean one thing: it’s a Hinata, and the clumsy act helps Akiteru discern which one it is.

Hinata Shouyou’s abashed face pops up, dirt and dust smeared over his cheeks, kimono wrinkled and edges torn. At the sound of the crash and the end of the fight, people tentatively start to exit their respective houses, and they cluster around the group of mismatched samurai, ronin, and a boy, checking to see if everything is alright, but still wearily keeping their distance from the corpses. Akiteru sighs. If the whole street was barren, and townsfolk were hiding within their houses, then Hinata Shouyou is - yet again - where he is not supposed to be.

“Come on,” Akiteru says. “Let’s get you back to your family.”

-

Hinata is lucky that Tsukishima Akiteru is kind. 

Kind enough that Hinata can refer to him as just ‘Akiteru-san’ without any fear of him lashing out - something that cannot be said for his younger brother, Tsukishima Kei, who, despite their matching ages, Hinata can only call him ‘Tsukishima’.

Kind enough that, after asking his companion if he could leave the disposal of the bodies to him (which he graciously accepted, further confirming Hinata’s belief that samurais are the best), Akiteru guided Hinata back to his family, who were hovering stressfully around the entrance of their humble tea shop. The sight of Hinata safe obviously relieved the entire family, with Natsu hurling herself towards him and embracing him tightly (and yeah, he _definitely_ bruised himself), but it didn’t save him from the onslaught of reprimands that followed.

That leads him to where he is right now: standing, in the centre of their small shop, flicking his gaze from the stacks of bags of loose tea leaves on display to the small sitting area to his left to Akiteru standing awkwardly to the side, wringing his hands; anywhere other than making eye contact with his infuriated mother.

“Shouyou, this is the _last time!”_ his mother shrills - she has been going on about this for what feels like an eternity to Hinata. “Do you even understand how reckless and dangerous that was? What if the ronin attacked you next?”

“But they didn’t!” Hinata bites back, because he has been on the receiving end of disapproval for longer than he has the capacity to deal with (though probably not as long as he deserves). “And even if they did, the samurai would save me!”

He waves his hand in Akiteru’s direction, who flinches and smiles for lack of having anything better to do. His mother starts, as if just realising that they had a guest, and turns around, bowing deeply to the samurai. “Akiteru-kun,” she begins, bow still deep and grateful, “I cannot thank you enough for bringing our silly son back to us, and I am so sorry for any trouble he has caused. Shouyou!” she snaps, a stark contrast, “apologise! And stop bothering the samurai, they have jobs to do!”

Hinata slowly bends down to bow, because he _does_ respect the samurai, after all, and also because he does feel slightly bad about making Akiteru bring him back and consequently having to leave the clean-up to his colleague. Akiteru shakes his hands in reply, and says, “Oh, no, Hinata-san - it’s fine! We had already finished with the ronin before Shouyou-kun crashed. Plus,” his voice lifting as he attempts to raise the mood, “it’s nice to know that Shouyou-kun is so interested in samurai! 

At this, Hinata perks up - he’s always ready to gush about his admiration for samurai - but his mother straightens her back and just lets out a vague hum. “Well,” she says, and that’s that.

Hinata groans - all that can mean is that his mother has something on her mind, and that he is, sooner or later, in for another lecture. Akiteru nervously laughs, glancing at both the Hinatas, sensing the mood once again souring. Before anything else happens, though, Hinata’s father steps in, Natsu clinging onto his waist.

“Akiteru-kun,” he says softly, “I think it best if you go to Shimada’s and get your wound checked up on.”

Just remembering his wounded shoulder, Akiteru clutches it - luckily, though, it seems to have stopped bleeding. He nods thankfully, and starts heading out, but Hinata rushes to his side, desperate to escape his inevitable chiding: “I’m going to go with Akiteru-san!”

“Hinata Shouyou, I’m not done with you yet- come back here!” his mother hollers, but it’s too late; the boy is leaping out of the house. “Shouyou- you- I’m making you work the whole day tomorrow! From dawn to dusk!”

“Yeah, alright, whatever!”

The pair make for the pharmacy, Hinata chattering mindlessly. The streets are already back to normal, with people ambling by and continuing with their daily lives, a few stopping and thanking Akiteru for his service.

Hinata looks up at him curiously. “Say, Akiteru-san,” he starts, “how come you’re back here in Kashimura? Aren’t you meant to be in Kyoto?”

“Eh? Oh, I finished up what I needed to do,” answers the blond, smiling and bowing at another passerby who thanks him gratefully.

“What did you have to do?” asks Hinata.

“Errands for Yachi-sama,” and upon arriving at their destination, he slides open the door to the Shimada Pharmacy, gesturing for Hinata to enter before entering himself. “And I had a letter for Kei, too. I gave it to him already, though.”

That peaks Hinata’s interest - he always wants to know what his (self-proclaimed, and quite frankly, one-sided) rival is up to, and a letter from Kyoto can only be big. “What-”

“Welcome!” comes from the back corner of the shop, and the head of Shimada Makoto, owner of the pharmacy, appears over the few rows of wooden shelves, cutting Hinata off. “I’ll be with you in a bit! In the meantime - _Tadashi!”_

Clasping a broom in both hands, a freckled boy scrambles in from the backroom, brushing through the simple noren. “Welcome - _Akiteru-san?”_

 _“Akiteru?”_ pipes up Shimada again. “Hold on - I’ll definitely be there, just give me a bit - _shit!”_ accompanied by a crash, and Hinata doesn’t think he’ll be with them anytime soon.

Still clutching the broom tightly, Yamaguchi Tadashi beams at the pair, elated at the entry of the older Tsukishima brother, but, catching sight of the dried blood solidifying the fabric around Akiteru’s shoulder, his face contorts into a grimace, and he leans his broom against the wall, inching closer to inspect the gash. “A fight already? When did you come back?”

“Just last night,” Akiteru replies, shuffling off the shoulder of his kimono and haori to allow for clearer analysis. “I’m fine, though. The wound has already stopped bleeding.”

“Hmm,” and Yamaguchi starts shuffling towards the backroom. “I think you’ll be fine, but let’s clean it just in case. Please, sit!” 

He motions towards a stool just in front of the counter, and disappears behind the noren, before returning moments later, a clean cloth in one hand and a bucket in the other. “We’re out of clean water,” he explains, “so I’m just going to go to the well and collect some,” and he leaves.

Akiteru seats himself on the stool, hands on knees. “Tadashi is a lot more confident now than when he was younger,” he muses.

Hinata nods, but he knows that isn’t technically the case - sure, Yamaguchi may be assured in the art of pharmacy, but otherwise, at the age of nineteen, he still sticks close to his childhood friend Tsukishima, following him and chasing after him. _No, that’s unfair of me,_ Hinata thinks - Yamaguchi _may_ still be dependent on Tsukishima, but that doesn’t detract from what he’s done.

Despite being the same age as Hinata and not any richer, Yamaguchi is one of the most well-read villagers, and his knowledge of medicine and herbs has helped the village (and Hinata, especially, as a serial injury-obtainer and the village-proclaimed ‘Most Reckless Person’) drastically. His parents both died from an attack by ronin when Yamaguchi was still young, leaving only a house and a small sum of money behind, but Shimada - one of the only people in Kashimura who used to live and was educated in Kyoto - took him under his wing and taught him about medicine and literature. Yamaguchi dedicated his days to learning the uses of each herb and reading and writing; when he was little, Hinata would often see Yamaguchi reading a book under a tree whilst he himself fumbled around with a wooden tanto, and he never understood how the other managed to invest himself in books (which were, in his view, mysterious objects that he could barely understand), though looking back, he decides that their determination is the same. It just lies in different places.

“Anyway, Akiteru-san,” says Hinata, “how was Kyoto? What did you do there? Did you meet any new samurai?”

“It was nice!” is the casual response, as if he’s talking about a day’s rest he had, and not about travelling down to the capital Kyoto (a journey which usually takes a day by horse), a city that ninety percent of Kashimura’s population have only ever heard stories of. Though Hinata supposes that, as one of the daimyo’s most trusted samurai, it must be normal for Akiteru to go on new voyages. _Ah,_ Hinata thinks bitterly. _If only that were me._

Akiteru carries on. “I was mainly visiting a blacksmith down in Kyoto, and I went to buy some silk as well. Sadly though, I didn’t bump into any Kyoto samurai.”

Hinata huffs. “Boring. Why did you go to a blacksmith in Kyoto? We have one right here, you know.” Takinoue’s blacksmithery is located diagonally opposite to Hinata’s tea shop, and memories of running in and _pleading_ for a real katana only to be rejected and shooed off flood Hinata’s mind.

“Yeah, but the one in Kyoto is renowned, and Yachi-sama prefers the quality of their weapons - don’t tell Takinoue, though!” Akiteru winks, and lets out a good-natured laugh. “The blacksmith there makes weapons for the shogunate, you know! Speaking of,” and he scratches his chin in thought, “he was the one who handed me the letter for Kei.”

“What’s this about a letter for Tsukki?”

Yamaguchi returns with a bucket full of water, droplets spilling out as the bucket sways in time with his steps. He gently places it down next to Akiteru, and, soaking his cloth in the bucket before wringing out any excess water, gets to work wiping off the blood on his patient’s shoulder. 

Akiteru shivers at the cold touch of the damp cloth. “I got a letter for Kei from a blacksmith in Kyoto - I gave it to him this morning. Who knows what it’s about.”

“It’s probably something good. After all, this is Tsukki we’re talking about!” boasts Yamaguchi happily, earning an approving chuckle from the blond. Hinata grumbles internally - the only word he can think to use to describe them is ‘oblivious’; Tsukishima’s personality is equivalent to rotten fish, and it seems like Hinata is the only one aware of that fact.

Whatever. Once Hinata becomes the most famous, strongest samurai, he’ll have his _own_ fanclub that will flock to him in millions, and Tsukishima will have to be nothing but jealous.

Hinata can’t wait.

Yamaguchi finishes cleaning Akiteru, who thanks him, and drops his cloth in the bucket. Water splashes onto Hinata’s ankles. “You should be fine,” Yamaguchi states. “The blood’s all clotted up, and luckily the wound isn’t deep. Now you, Hinata.”

“Huh?” blurts out the redhead. “But I’m fine!”

Yamaguchi elbows him in the stomach, and Hinata doubles over in pain - _oh._ Without the throbbing of the bruise, he’d forgotten his own fiasco and, in consequence, his own injuries. Yamaguchi raises his eyebrows at him - _I told you so! -_ and orders him to remove his kimono and haori so that he can see the severity of the bruise.

It’s a pretty purple splatter on the side of his stomach. “I think there’s an ointment for that,” Yamaguchi states, and heads for one of the shelves within the pharmacy, rummaging through them, coming back with a small vial and Shimada in tow.

Yamaguchi dribbles a few drops of the ointment onto the bruise, softly rubbing it onto the skin. His hands are delicate, and Hinata is thankful for that - the only sensation he feels is a ticklish one, one that causes him to giggle in retaliation, which he prefers over an aching pain any day.

“We witnessed your little fall earlier, Shouyou-kun,” Shimada says, and Hinata glances out the open window, recognising the box-filled alleyway that lies just opposite the pharmacy as his hiding spot where he watched the fight play out. “Your parents must be worried sick, what with you prancing around like that, getting injured constantly.”

Shrugging on his clothes as Yamaguchi finishes up with the ointment, Hinata claims, “This all goes to my practice as a samurai!”

“You’re still on about that,” deadpans a voice from the pharmacy entrance, and everyone turns to see who it is, but the bored tone can only belong to one: the younger Tsukishima brother, who walks in with a sneer on his face.

“Tsukki!” chimes Yamaguchi excitedly, at the same time that Akiteru lets out a surprised but happy “Kei!” _(see! Tsukishima fanclub!)_. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’ve come to talk to Nii-san about the letter,” and, accompanied by a mocking glare directed at Hinata, he says, “but it seems like I’ve come across a pest along the way. Another injury, Hinata? Let me guess, you were foolishly watching the little event earlier, and you hurt yourself during the process, because your clumsiness and way of ignoring advice from your parents knows no bounds.” Tsukishima snickers, coming further into the store.

“Hey!” splutters Hinata, furious - talking back to Tsukishima is like willingly walking into a pit of fire, but Hinata can’t help but argue. “Listen - these injuries are a sign of my dedication to becoming a samurai!”

“Oh, really?” Tsukishima drawls out slowly. “Then how many of them are wounds from a proper samurai fight?”

Hinata opens his mouth to respond, but he can’t think of anything to say: the answer is zero, after all. His shame keeps his mouth gaping.

A scoff. “Please. Boast about your _‘battle scars’_ once you’ve experienced a proper battle.”

There’s a split second of silence after the pair’s small argument, in which everyone is unaware of what to do, but Tsukishima breezes over the whole spat, swiftly continuing to talk to the other townsfolk, clearly disregarding the redhead.

Hinata _hates this._ He hates it because everything Tsukishima said was right, and every jab he made had some truth behind it. The Tsukishima brothers come from a lineage of esteemed samurai, and Kei and Akiteru are no exceptions: Akiteru is considered the daimyo Yachi’s top samurai. The younger Tsukishima has been training since he could talk, following his brother’s footsteps, his efforts shown through the refined and precise way he uses his longbow. Sure, he’s not one of the daimyo’s samurai, but he _could_ be - he’s fought against countless ronin before, when the village desperately needed help, and he’s succeeded time and time again, to the point that he is only not a samurai in name. His lack of a samurai title is by choice.

Hinata, on the other hand, has never participated in a single samurai fight. The most experience he has is fighting, with a toy wooden tanto, against an unwilling Yamaguchi, who dodged most of his attacks, anyway (but this was when they were little, and Hinata was inexperienced and new to the colourful world of bushi). So he practiced everyday with his tanto, his target a sole tree down the street, and yet, at nineteen years old, he has not one spar to his name. He has begged to fight before. Akiteru has heard him. His parents have heard him. Hell, with how often and loud he is about it, the shogun _himself_ has probably heard him. But instead everyday, by his parents' request, he sits behind the counter in his family-owned tea shop, fiddling with his tanto in his lap, the sight of tea leaves sinking to the bottom of his cup an engraved image. His lack of a samurai title is by force.

The feeling of being left behind is scalding.

Tsukishima has stopped talking when Hinata stills his contemplating, and with a brief glimpse around the room, the expression etched onto everyone’s faces is telling: he has revealed something big.

“What?” asks Hinata, frantic to know. “What’s happening? What did Tsukishima say?”

Yamaguchi pulls a trembling grin onto his face. He looks ecstatic, face dripping in pride. “Tsukki’s been asked to work for the shogun in Kyoto!”

_What._

Hinata blinks. He tries to speak, but his head is whirring faster than his body can keep up with, the same recycled thoughts circulating through as he processes this information. Eventually, he lets out a hoarse, “As a samurai?”

The euphoric nod from Yamaguchi in response is enough to plummet Hinata’s heart straight into the ground.

Everyone immediately starts to congratulate the boy, ruffling his hair and expressing _how impressive this is,_ how he has _come so far_ and this is _all deserved._ How his _hours of training as a child built up to this._

Hinata is not usually one to feel envy, but his world has been tinted green.

Tsukishima’s personality is hardly worth the praise. _Tsukishima_ is hardly worth the praise.

 _Okay,_ whispers a persistent voice in the back of Hinata’s mind, _but who was chosen to go to Kyoto to serve as a samurai under the shogun? And who’s been left behind?_

_No!_ his rational side shrieks, desperately swatting away any negative thoughts. _Stop it! Stop thinking like this! Focus on what you have to do! Tsukishima’s gone ahead. You can’t change that. What can you do for yourself?_

What can he do for himself?

Hinata tugs on the fabric of Tsukishima’s sleeve. “When do you leave?”

“Who knows if I’ll even go,” Tsukishima begins, and Hinata is about to slap him for even _thinking_ about wasting an opportunity like this - one that he would plead for, one that he would do anything for to even have a _thread_ of the chance - but Akiteru interrupts him boldly with a, “He’ll be leaving in one week!”

 _“Excuse me?”_ chokes out Tsukishima.

Akiteru claps him on the back. “Don’t let go of a chance like this, Kei. Working directly for the shogun is the dream for any samurai, and the fact that they personally requested you must be because they recognised your skill. Tadashi will write and send an acceptance letter to them and you can prepare to leave in a week from today!”

Tsukishima glares his brother down, but, seemingly accepting the fact that there is no way he is able to get out of this, stays quiet in resignation. 

A week from now. That’s the amount of time Hinata has.

 _Okay,_ he thinks. _Let’s start._

-

The first thing he does is seek out the daimyo’s daughter.

Yachi Hitoka is the sole child of the daimyo, and, due to her social rank and her parents’ busy livelihoods, lived the beginning of her life with only herself as company. Hinata quickly befriended her one day, though, when he saw blonde hair wave out of the corner of his eye whilst he was practicing (or, more accurately back then, flailing around) with his tanto. Yachi had asked him what he was doing and why he was attacking the tree, and Hinata had explained, patiently but excitedly - after all, he had never had a willing audience before. After that, he introduced her to both Yamaguchi and Tsukishima (because the two were (and still are) rarely separate), and the four coevals formed an unexpected friendship.

Hinata skids down the street and aims for the beat-up tree near the end of the road; it is around the time that Hinata starts sparring with his tanto and, since their first meeting, it has become common for Yachi to accompany Hinata during his training. Hands grip the trunk and he pivots around it - he scrapes and splinters his fingers, but that’s okay, it’s a common occurrence and he’s accustomed to it - to come face to face with a petite Yachi, paper and her personal yatate in hand.

She squeals. “Hinata! You surprised me!”

“Sorry, Yachi-san, I- did I disrupt you?”

One of the rare (and personally set) rules that Hinata abides by is to never disturb Yachi when she is painting. Her ability to craft beautiful, intricate drawings on delicate sheets of paper is divine, and her light and steady hand is something Hinata wishes he possessed himself. Using a mere brush from her yatate set and a flick of her wrist, every training session she manages to conjure up a drawing - no, more so than that, she manages to _breathe life into it._ Hinata thinks her hands are magic.

Yachi shakes her head, and a brief look at her sheet of paper shows that she has yet to start creating. This is exciting and new; Hinata gets to witness her performance from start to finish.

“Do you need me to help with tanto practice?” Yachi asks kindly. 

“No, Yachi-san, actually - I’m not practicing today. Could you hear me out?” 

A blink of surprise. The absurdity of the sun taking a break shocks Yachi into dropping her yatate, fumbling anxiously to pick it up again. “Um. Okay! What do you want to talk about?”

“Please draw,” is what Hinata opens with, plopping down onto his knees beside the girl and directing his gaze towards her hands and the paper - Yachi gladly complies, and she takes a moment’s pause to think before delicately putting brush to paper. “I need you to work at my family’s shop for a bit.”

Her hands still for a second, but it’s not enough to stop her. “That’s… fine, Hinata. I can always help out! When, though? Do your parents need help now?”

“Um…” He hesitates - does he reveal his plan now? His urge and excitement to tell her everything is held back by his worry of overwhelming the young girl, and he staggers his words. “Uh- no, not now. From next week. If that’s okay.”

“That’s fine! For how long?” She dips her brush into ink, the black tint seeping slowly into the hairs.

Hinata inhales deeply, elated uncertainty flavouring the air. “Like. A long time. Who knows.” A pause. “I also probably won’t be there to help.”

“...Okay,” is a drawn out word, confusion clearly painting Yachi’s voice. “Why?”

_This is it. It’s now or never!_

He squeezes his hands and steadies them on his lap, opens his mouth, and a rapid succession of words spew out, too excited to slow down or stop. “I’m going to Kyoto with Tsukishima next week to work as a samurai under the shogun!”

The brush drops.

 _“Eh?”_ Yachi squeaks out, her head whipping around. “Hinata- you- seriously? You’re seriously going to Kyoto?” Her eyes shine over as she continues to process Hinata’s sudden declaration, and she splutters out a quick, “As a samurai? _With_ _Tsukishima?”_

Hinata nods, grin untameable on his face.

“How did this end up happening? I mean, you’ve never even used a proper katana before!” Yachi exclaims, amazed, but backtracks just as fast: “I mean! N-Not to say you’re unsuitable- or useless- or that your tanto is bad- I just- Hinata, I’m sorry, I just- you-”

“It’s fine, Yachi-san, don’t worry!” Hinata laughs out. He’s about to open his mouth and spill out the truth, but he pauses, holding back and giving Yachi a once-over: _what would she say?_

The accumulating need to tell someone everything surpasses any hesitation Hinata has.

“To tell you the truth,” Hinata says, “Tsukishima is the one who was invited to Kyoto. I’m just tagging along!”

Yachi stares.

“Tagging along?” she echoes. He nods in return, nothing short of thrill lacing the nod. “Does Tsukishima-kun know about this?”

This receives a delayed shake of his head.

Yachi inhales. “Hinata,” she begins quietly, placing her brush back inside the yatate and gently closing it - _oh no. Why does she sound like that?_ “I… I don’t think that this is the best idea. Personally, I mean.” She furrows her brow in concern, and asks, “Do your parents know about this?”

“No,” Hinata mumbles, before hurriedly spouting out, “Not yet, I mean! I was thinking you could come with me to try and convince them!” _I didn’t think the one I’d have to convince would be_ you, _though._

Yachi looks at him like he’s gone insane. He probably has, in her eyes; he’s known to be reckless, but never to this level. _“Me?_ Convince your parents? Hinata!” She stands up quickly, and paces little footsteps around the tree, tightly gripping her sheet of paper and yatate in her hand. “Hinata, you know I want to support you in every way, and- and I trust you, but. I don’t think. I!” She’s stammering. She’s worried. It’s not unusual. 

Hinata still never wants to make her feel this way.

Yachi stops, facing Hinata, little crinkles trimming the corners of her upturned eyebrows. “Kyoto’s really big. And scary. And far away. And I don’t know...” 

She trails off, but Hinata can easily fill in the blanks: _I don’t know if you’re ready._ Years of continuous tanto practice is impressive, sure, but experience is priceless, and his own skill pales in comparison next to people who have participated in fights before. 

_So what?_ he stubbornly thinks. He can dwell on his lack of experience later, once he’s done something worthy, once he’s reached the end of his line, once he can’t do anything more. He doesn’t have any experience right now, so he’s going to _get some._

Hinata attempts to voice his thoughts, but Yachi unexpectedly bows deeply, a troubled frown drawn on her face. “I’m sorry, Hinata! I need some time to think about this!” and with that, she’s scampering back up the road, her small frame disappearing in the bustle of the afternoon streets.

 _That’s that, then,_ Hinata thinks. _What do I do now?_

-

“No way. Absolutely not.”

Tsukishima sits cross-legged on the floor of his house, arms crossed across his chest. Yamaguchi sits similarly next to him, off-work, a nervous look adorning his face.

“Tsukishima!” whines Hinata, settled on his knees in front of the two. “Why?”

“You’ll be an embarrassment,” Tsukishima hisses. “I’m going to Kyoto, Hinata. _Kyoto._ The capital. To work as a _samurai._ You’ve never even fought before. I don’t want to be humiliated.”

It’s a venom-filled jab with the purpose of hurting, but Hinata steels himself and - using all his effort - ignores it. Arguing with Tsukishima is the complete opposite of Hinata’s goal, and besides, he’s heard the insult enough that it almost doesn’t affect him (at least he hopes).

Hinata persists. “Please, Tsukishima! I won’t be a bother!”

“No.”

_“Tsukishima!”_

The blond grits out a curt, _“Why?”_

A blink. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean _why,”_ Tsukishima says, “why go to Kyoto? Why not stay here and work as a samurai?”

Hinata’s eyes cloud over with confusion. “Huh? I mean, I want to fight against and work with strong samurai,” he states, as if it couldn’t be more obvious, “and the shogunate is made up of the strongest samurai.”

Tsukishima fixes him with an indescribable stare.

“Please,” Hinata pleads.

The dying sound of mundane activity from outside as the sun starts to set becomes more prominent in the heavy silence that follows his plea, and Hinata starts to think that he’s going to have to forgo Tsukishima’s permission and find a way to get to Kyoto without him knowing. However, as he’s about to revert to his backup plan, the other eventually grumbles out an annoyed, “Do what you want.”

Yamaguchi squeezes out a shocked, “Tsukki!” whilst Hinata’s jaw drops, surprised by Tsukishima’s sudden approval (or, more fittingly, lack of disapproval). He lets out a short cheer and a, “Thank you so much, Tsukishima!” as a farewell, bounding out of the house in case there’s a just as fast change of mind, the warmth of the house dwindling down.

Tsukishima stands up, feeling stripped of his energy; that’s one of the reasons why he hates talking to overly passionate and excitable idiots like Hinata. “Yamaguchi, come with me to send off the acceptance letter.”

“Eh? Oh, sure!” Yamaguchi hastily rises, still gawking at the blond. “But Hinata isn’t written into the letter - should we change it?”

“No. I’m not inviting him to come. He’s just doing what he wants.”

“I… guess. Still,” and Yamaguchi lets out an amazed laugh, “what made you change your mind? The fact that you even considered Hinata’s proposal is kinda shocking!”

There is another pregnant pause before Tsukishima speaks, and his words are slow and deliberate. He thinks about the driven look in Hinata’s eyes, and the way he spoke, matter-of-factly, about samurai. “I wouldn’t have been able to stop him,” he says coolly, and Yamaguchi hums in agreement.

Disgusting is the only word Tsukishima can think to use as he feels himself slowly being closed in on by someone previously so far behind. It’s revolting. He wants to shout.

 _Blessed are the determined,_ he bitterly muses, feeling his neck trickle sweat from familiar heat brushing his back.

-

Night time brings Hinata back to his own home, feeling the most uncertain and unready he has felt the entire day. He knocks on the door with quick successive raps, and the overwhelming scent of tea paired with the door opening to his mother’s face is the fullest description of home that Hinata can think of; the feeling dispels his uncertainty, leaving him comfortable and content, warm and happy.

“Perfect timing, Shouyou; I need to talk to you.”

The sharpness of his mother’s voice slices through his sweet mood.

“Okaa-san,” Hinata greets weakly. He’d forgotten that he was due for a scolding, and the desire to turn heel and _run_ is immense, but he knows better to try and escape his own mother when she’s mad, so he takes a reluctant step into the house.

The door locks behind him. That’s one potential escape route gone. 

(Potential! As if he would _actually_ try to escape. Of course not!

He still throws a glance towards nearby windows - just in case! - but they’re barricaded with bags of tea. He should’ve known; after his victorious breakout this morning, his parents would definitely be more alert.

Well, shit.)

“Sit,” his mother instructs, pointing towards their small dining table in the backroom of the store, hidden behind the counter, a green noren dividing the space. Hinata complies easily - avoiding this is impossible, he’s now aware, and the subtle smell of cooked rice wafting through the room is a compelling lure.

His father and sister are already seated at the table, cross-legged and kneeling respectively. The sight of food makes Hinata’s mouth water, and his stomach grumbles appropriately; all this thinking makes him hungry, so he settles down opposite his father to eat, but a loud clear of the throat from his mother freezes him in place.

Ah, right. Punishment.

His mother sits down opposite Natsu. “I won’t talk about your little catastrophic run-off today,” is the unpredictable opening.

Hinata can hardly believe his miraculous luck, and he rejoices internally. “Great! Let’s dig in, then-”

“However!” she exclaims, and the rejoicing halts. “Your father and I have been talking.”

_Oh no._

“That’s nice - hope it’s only been about good things!” Hinata tries to joke, but it falls flat as his attempt at hiding the wavering fear in his voice fails. 

This _can’t_ be good. His parents have been talking; certainly about him, and most probably negatively. Natsu won’t even make eye contact with him - she must’ve overheard their parents’ conversation and recognised the bad news it would bring Hinata - her gaze solely trained on her steaming bowl of rice in front of her. 

Hinata looks at his own bowl, and envisions himself drowning in a sea of rice grains. He’d rather that instead of having to listen to whatever his parents are about to say.

His mother leads the coming lecture with a factual, “You’ve held a strong interest towards samurai from a young age,” to which Hinata nods eagerly; the term ‘samurai’ by itself is enough to jolt Hinata with a spark of life, but she carries on, and the slightly somber tone causes the spark to flicker and dim down. “We - your parents - understood that, and we tried to support you as best we could. I know you liked to play around with your toy tanto a lot, too.”

 _Play around. Toy tanto._ When will his supposed ‘leisure time’ look like proper practice?

“But,” his mother says, “we never wanted you to get involved with something- anything- fatal, especially not at a young age.”

He knows this, of course he does; his parents are endearing and affectionate and his mother tears her own hair out as soon as she suspects harm is being directed towards her children. Why, otherwise, would his parents have rejected his first wish to become a samurai, when he was young and green, and asked him to work in the store, instead? Why was he, from then on, forced to tend to the shop whenever he had free time, until he gave up on trying to sneak into the daimyo’s household and beg to be a samurai?

(He gave up easily once he realised that the time he spent demanding to fight could be used to practice, but the longing glances he threw at the far, authoritative house never stopped nor decreased; to have the title, to become a _full-fledged samurai_ would be like being bestowed a pair of golden wings. He would feel invincible.)

She’s still talking. “We’ve tried to keep you safe and out of harm’s way, but. Well. What with Akiteru-kun this morning talking about your intense interest, Shouyou, we’ve… been thinking.” A slow inhale. Natsu hunches her back even further, nose almost touching the rice. “We think it would be best if you gave up on becoming a samurai - and samurai, in general - completely.”

The entire day has seemed like a shock-infused arrow shot straight through Hinata’s heart, but this causes him to choke - on what? On his years of practice, maybe; on his fresh and multiplying scars and bruises, maybe; on his volumes and volumes of bold claims, claims that one day he will be a samurai, claims that his parents want to sever, maybe.

His stern and firm “No,” pays homage to himself.

His mother sighs expectantly. “Shouyou,” she starts, but Hinata cuts her off - a death wish, but his sense is being blurred with emotions _-_ with a furious,

 _“No!_ I’m not- you can’t make me- I’m not going to stop! I’ll never- I’ll never stop, and you can’t make me! I’ve come this far- I only need- I just- you can’t! You can’t take this away from me!”

_“Shouyou!”_

“You can’t! You can’t, you can’t, _you can’t!”_ He thrashes his hands wildly about, the dishes on the table jumping when he knocks his hand against it. He’s throwing a tantrum, possibly, but he can’t bring himself to feel guilty or embarrassed for acting childish; he can’t throw away his life.

“We’re just looking out for your safety!” his mother tries to reason, before following up with a hesitant, “You… probably won’t make it very far, anyway; after all, most samurai start young-”

“You _stopped_ me from starting young!” Hinata hisses, and his mouth pools with salty tears. “In fact, you stopped me from starting at all! And now you want to stop me from even _trying!”_ A hiccup. “Why won’t you _leave me be?”_

Natsu whimpers. Her hands are balled fists on her lap.

Hinata takes a shaky breath, and forces his voice into stability, wanting to sound as assertive as he can with his next announcement, but it quivers regardless. “I’m going to Kyoto with Tsukishima next week,” he spits out. “To train. As a samurai.”

Natsu’s head whips up, her mouth trembling as she tries to suppress her tears - but she’s young, and she’s scared, and they fall down anyway - whilst his mother’s mouth drops open into a gape. A raised eyebrow is the only reaction from his father; he’s never been one for theatrics, anyway.

“You can’t stop me,” is hastily tacked on, and then he stands up, and runs out of the shop.

-

The spring nights are cool and the subtle breeze dries Hinata’s tears, leaving behind only a tired ache in his eyes. It is quiet and empty on the streets; the village rests with the sun, the liveliness from the morning a dead tune for the day.

He mindlessly takes exhausting steps forward, the biting pain of hunger reminding him that he’s yet to eat anything since his breakfast, and the thought of returning to his house and stuffing his face with food is captivating, but his pride binds him to the streets outside, and it forces his feet down the roads.

He feels horrible.

 _This is the worst,_ he determines, because it _is._ He had expected refusal, of course - he was proposing going to Kyoto! _Him!_ With hardly a week’s notice! - but he hadn’t foreseen utter rejection of bushi. 

He lets out a short yell of frustration, because the resting streets allow for little more, and kicks at the ground, coming to a stop. The dirt billows up in a messy cloud, a thin layer of dust masking Hinata, who wheezes out a few hacks.

A quiet voice squeezes its way through the dust. “Hinata?”

It’s familiar, and Hinata coughs out a surprised, “Yachi-san?”

She emerges from the screen of dust, cheeks dirt-speckled, eyes bright. Her blonde hair takes a quiet blue sheen under the gentle moon. 

“What are you doing out at night? Are your parents okay with you being out?” Hinata immediately asks, to which Yachi responds with a hesitant, stilted nod; her parents don’t know about this, it’s clear, but if timid Yachi actively chose to act against her parents, then it must be important, so Hinata chooses not to comment on it.

“Anyway!” Yachi diverts. “Hinata. I… thought about your suggestion.”

Well. If this isn’t the worst.

Having yet to overcome his parents’ rejection, Hinata thinks he can hardly withstand another, but the daimyo’s daughter has escaped her own house and made her way down the dark streets to find Hinata and talk about it, so he closes his eyes and hums in response.

“I want to support you going to Kyoto.”

His eyes snap open.

Yachi’s brows are furrowed in conviction, and her mouth is set into a straight line, clenched fists by her sides. It leaves Hinata’s mouth hanging, and he barely manages to stutter out a shocked, “Why?”

“I…don’t really know,” Yachi admits, but she hurriedly carries on. “I don’t really know why, and I do think it’s dangerous, still - but!” A pause. “I’ve known you since we were little, and I know that you, Hinata, are completely dedicated to becoming a samurai. I know you think Kyoto will help you to become who you want to be. I don’t want to limit you.” Her stare is coated in confidence. “I want to support you.”

Hinata almost cries into Yachi’s shoulder as he pulls her into an overjoyed hug, hoping it conveys everything that words fail to.

“I don’t think I could ever stop you,” Yachi says, quietly, after a few content seconds of hugging, “but I’m sorry for trying. I know this is important to you. I didn’t want to make it seem like I didn’t believe in you, or something. I was just…worried, I think.”

“Don’t apologise!” Hinata grins, pulling away. “This means more to me than you could think. To be honest, I was worried that you were going to completely deny me.”

Years of friendship allows Yachi to identify the bitterness behind Hinata’s words, and she probes him gently. He doesn’t want to say - she has been troubled by him enough for the day, but her soft voice and little hands gripping his kimono remind him of Natsu, and that is all it takes for him to tell her everything. 

“Oh dear,” is what follows Hinata’s retelling. Yachi worries her lip, hands clasped tightly together, as the two of them sit - the weight of the story pulled both of them down - under the familiar light of the waning moon. “Hinata-kun, I’m…sorry.”

“Why did they suddenly try and stop me? Did my years of rebellion finally cause them to snap?”

“I’m sure they were only looking out for you!” offers Yachi, but her typical reassurance sounds unsteady. “They were worried, I’m sure. Your parents have always been protective.”

Hinata doesn’t reply, and he throws his head back, looking up at the moon, the gravel on the ground digging into the palms of his hands. Yachi copies him, and after a noiseless second, she utters out, softly, “Will you still go to Kyoto?”

“Of course,” comes with no hesitation. “I mean, I even got Tsukishima’s approval - well, kinda - to go! A chance that rare - do you think I’d miss it? I’ll go, no matter what.” As he continues speaking, a layer of somberness tints his words. “But… I would like to leave on a good note with my family.”

“I could help convince them if you want,” Yachi provides, but the quiver in her voice causes Hinata to decline the offer.

“Thank you, Yachi-san, but you’ve done enough already,” he says. “I’ll convince them myself.”

The two speak no more after that, basking silently in the beam of the moon, before Hinata leaps up, the sudden urge to move and shout surging through his body, the tired feeling in his eyes long washed away. The support of one person gifts him the energy of a volcano. The support of four will help him surpass the world.

There are people resting and sleeping, and the streets are napping, and the moon sits high, and no time seems better to shout than now. “Ah!” he yells into the sky, hoping his voice reaches the celestial lamp. “Everyone better wait! Soon, I’ll be flying free in Kyoto!”

-

A single lamp lights up the backroom when Hinata returns home, guiding his eyes to the untouched bowl of rice and leftover dishes, all which he scarfs down gratefully. He tidies up after, the fire of the lamp winking out, and cautiously tiptoes up the stairs, heading for his shared room.

Natsu’s turned away when he enters, fast asleep, tiny frame enveloped by her futon. A lit lamp idles quietly between their futons, and he blows it out before entering his own bed, exhaustion finally reaching him.

“Are you going to Kyoto with Tsukishima-san?”

Ah. So she’s not asleep.

“It’s late, Natsu,” Hinata murmurs. “Go to sleep.”

_“Nii-chan.”_

He sighs. “Yeah, I am.”

“When?”

“Next week. Come on Natsu, let’s slee-”

“Why?”

Hinata reluctantly lets out a hushed, “Because I want to become a samurai.”

“Do you have to go to Kyoto?” asks Natsu, and the wobble of her voice reminds Hinata that she’s only ten, that she doesn’t want to be separated from her brother like this - hell, neither does he. But he has to, and he says so.

“Why?” Natsu persists.

“This village is my beginning, and it’s been my birth,“ Hinata says, “but Kyoto will let me grow, and eventually fly.”

“Why can’t you fly here?”

The tired ache returns to dwell on Hinata’s eyes, and they flutter shut. “A bird can’t fly in a locked cage,” he mindlessly whispers as sleep welcomes itself in.

-

He sleeps dreamless.

It’s the best he’s ever slept in his whole life, if he thinks honestly, and Hinata determines that it must be due to the tired feeling plaguing his eyes after crying; he fell asleep without a hitch, and from there, enjoyed a restful slumber.

This is most likely why he woke up later than usual, too.

When he cracks open an eye, body half swarmed in futon and half exposed to the empty room, the usual sight of an ablazed sky is replaced instead by the sun high up and the sound of muted chatter gently rumbling from the floor below.

 _Oh, shit!_ Hinata jolts from his bed and dashes down the stairs, tripping to start with his futon tangled between his feet. _I was meant to work this morning!_

He rushes through the backroom, flipping the noren out of his face, and crashing directly into his mother. “Okaa-san, sorry!” is hurriedly spewed out. “I overslept - I don’t really know why - I’m here to work, though!” _Please have mercy on me!_

Hinata braces himself for the scolding that’s bound to come, but his mother simply gives him a once-over and a request for him to change. This startles him into a state of stillness, and he only moves to run back upstairs when a frequent customer laughs at his messy appearance.

Pulling on a different set of clothes and his self-named ‘work haori’, he ponders over his mother’s alarmingly calm reaction whilst he makes his way back to the shop. _Maybe she doesn’t want to get angry in front of customers._ She’s gotten furious at him in front of an audience many times before, so that can’t be true. _Maybe she forgot I’m meant to work today._ As far as Hinata is aware, his mother’s memory is creepily sharp, and she has yet to forget a single deed (good or bad) that Hinata has done, so that’s unlikely, too.

_Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to me because of yesterday._

Now _that_ may be true; his mother has a tendency to ignore anyone she is extremely mad at, and Hinata lashing out and declaring his intent on going to Kyoto _no matter what_ probably didn’t make her happy. 

Hinata steps tentatively into the shop, spotting his mother adjusting the display of some tea bags, and, testing the waters, greets her.

No response. He’s right. His father, from the far end of the shop, chatting softly with a customer, spots the interaction and throws Hinata a pitiful glance.

Well, okay. If she’s going to be all moody and grumpy and silent, then Hinata will, too. He clears his throat and tosses his head back, making his way to the counter. His father stops by - whether he’s mad about yesterday or completely fine, Hinata isn’t sure - and mumbles, “Your mother wants you to work tomorrow, too. Good luck.”

The rest of the day plays out like this.

Hinata works until the shop is closed (with little to no interaction with his mother) and gets ready to leave the house for his daily tanto practice - it’s a lot later than usual, and he’s definitely left Yachi waiting, but he couldn’t leave the shop at all during the day - when his father stops him with a demand from his mother that he has to stay at home to wash the clothes. Hinata begrudgingly agrees (he doesn’t want to anger his mother any further!) and, by the time the mounds of clothes are washed, it’s too dark to practice outside, so he swings his tanto around in his room. He just hopes that Yachi has gone home.

The next few days also continue like this.

Every day some excuse or another is put forth to stop Hinata from exiting the house: mending kimonos, scrubbing the floors, and so on.

 _So she wants to bound me to this shop to try and stop me!_ Hinata concludes after the third night of chores, wrapped up in his futon with Natsu snoring peacefully beside him. _Nice try. As if this will stop me from leaving!_

The following day has Hinata waking up with newfound vigour, his irritation with his house-arrest finally culminating, and so he pounds down the stairs and inhales his breakfast. When it’s time for the shop to open, Hinata positions himself behind the counter, work haori donned and overflowing with energy. Whether she’s still ignoring him or not, he _will_ confront his mother about her not-so-discreet plans, tell her she’ll never contain him, and then exit with a splash (hopefully in some dramatic way that demands for the attention of bystanders, so that they can witness how insanely _cool_ he is for going to Kyoto and how he is, obviously, in the right here).

Now he just has to wait for the right timing.

Despite his meticulous plans, his mother spends most of the day distanced from him - she spends the morning serving the numerous people their tea, and the early afternoon out of the store, shopping for supplies. When she comes back, a bit before sunset and their closing time, Hinata is resolute in talking to her.

He grabs the sleeve of her kimono and drags her behind the counter. “Okaa-san, I want to talk to you,” he says, voice laced in assertiveness and stance wide-set.

She looks at him, silent, and Hinata’s about to carry on talking when she sets her small bags of shopping on the countertop, and lets out an amused sigh. “I didn’t think you’d give up,” she says. “You can go to Kyoto.”

Hinata stands dumbfounded.

“Before you ask why,” his mother starts, slowly unpacking the shopping bags, “I discussed it with your father. He didn’t see anything wrong with it - of course he didn’t, it’s him we’re talking about - and I didn’t want you going, initially, because, well, it’s Kyoto. But after a few nights of thinking - I don’t want to stunt your growth. You obviously want to be a samurai, I mean, you still swing around that worn-down tanto even though you can’t leave the house!” A short chuckle leaves her lips. “I hope you have fun in Kyoto. Bring back a nice souvenir.”

She isn’t facing him as she’s talking. Hinata looks at her side profile, eyes crinkled, small smile occupying her mouth, and he feels like a child again. Like the one time, many years ago, when he was graced with his precious tanto from his parents.

He lied. The support of four people will help him surpass the world? Please. 

He feels like he could beat the universe if he tried.

“Thanks,” he whispers, and his mother laughs, ruffling his hair and entering the backroom. He’s frozen in awe when a customer hobbles up to the front desk.

“Excuse me, do you have this particular tea- _are you crying?”_

(Okay, so it wasn’t the melodramatic villain-versus-hero confrontation that Hinata had planned. 

It was better.)

-

Hinata and Tsukishima set for Kyoto in the very early hours of the day.

They’re going by horse-drawn carriages sent by the shogun _(we’re practically royalty!_ Hinata excitedly thinks), and Hinata can’t stop himself from marvelling at the seemingly mythical vehicle.

Yamaguchi marvels with him. “This is from the _shogun himself?_ Tsukki, you’re nobility!”

“Hey, me too!” Hinata snaps, and the freckled boy laughs apologetically in return.

Along with Yamaguchi, Yachi, Akiteru and Hinata’s family had come to see them off. Natsu, having refused to stay at home, grips the corner of her father’s kimono, drifting in and out of sleep.

“Have you packed everything? I put your breakfast into your bag. Eat properly when you get there! You can spend your allowance on food. It might not be enough, though. Should I give more?”

A barrage of questions tumble out of his mother’s mouth, and, after a quick glimpse at Akiteru similarly piling worried queries onto Tsukishima, Hinata can’t help but to giggle and brush them all off. His father simply pats him on the head and says, fondly, “Stay safe in Kyoto.”

Natsu drowsily charges at him with a messy hug. “‘m gonna miss you.”

“Me too, Natsu,” Hinata replies. “Look after our family for me, okay? That includes Yachi. She’s going to start working with you from now on.”

Said girl beams nervously at them, and, after Natsu returns to clutching onto her father, presents Hinata with a crisp sheet of paper. “For you,” she says.

His face scrunches up into an elated expression as he examines the paper. “This is amazing,” he gasps. “Yachi-san, thank you so much! I’ll definitely treasure it.”

At that, her shoulders drop in relief. Hinata reaches for a hug - careful to avoid wrinkling the paper - and exhales shakily. _I’m leaving my whole family behind._

Hinata gingerly lets go and takes a step back - one step further from his hometown. One step closer to Kyoto.

Despite the droplets gently cascading down her cheeks, Yachi’s smile is full of pride, and Hinata takes one final, sweeping glance around (and engraves the sight of all his important people deep into his mind), before stepping onto the carriage, Tsukishima in tow.

Everyone starts shouting their farewells and last messages, their voices getting increasingly loud and frantic as the carriage slowly starts to inch forward. Natsu groggily wails out a short, _“Nii-chan!”._ Yachi cups her mouth with one hand, the other already poised, ready to wave goodbye. 

“Please,” she calls out, “spread your wings in Kyoto!”


	2. three lives left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They cross paths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello guys!! its been a while im sorry im a rather slow writer EEK especially when i lose motivation,,,  
> anyway this chapter was fun to write near the end!!! i hope u enjoy reading it!! its not beta-read and i might reread this and change a few bits if im unhappy,,,,,  
> anyway! have a good day! ily all!

It’s a quiet ride to Kyoto.

The pair sit comfortably in the carriage, watching the world flash by out of their respective windows.  _ This is unusual,  _ Tsukishima thinks, so used to Hinata’s intolerable ramblings, but he doesn’t question it, and savours the peace.

The blond soon falls asleep early during the long ride, and Hinata would - he feels like he should, he doesn’t want to black out in the midst of Kyoto - but the anticipation of breathing in busy city air keeps him alert and awake throughout the entire journey.

The skies dim down and the moon reveals itself. Hinata directs his gaze at the sheet of paper nestled delicately in his hands, squinting. Clear, tentative strokes have etched a set of two black crows onto the page, mid flight. If Hinata listens closely, he can almost hear the flap of wings.

“Spread your wings in Kyoto,” he murmurs to himself (Tsukishima, now awake, glances at him, brief, and returns to paying him no attention).

“We’re here!” gruffly announces one of the riders.

Hinata blinks, startled by the sudden voice, and brushes the curtain aside, peering out of the window. Yellow illuminates the blue ground, and, as the carriage pulls up in front of the entrance to Kyoto, orange lights dance from within the city walls.

“Let’s go,” says Tsukishima, shouldering one of his bags.

An inhale.  _ City air.  _ Muffled noisy chatter. Kyoto is alive at night.

Hinata tenderly slips the paper into one of his bags before letting out a full exhale. “Okay,” he says, and gets ready to fly.

-

Kyoto is a bustling city during the night, which is a surprise to both Hinata and Tsukishima, who dwell in a town of nighttime serenity. It’s not unwelcome to Hinata, though, who roams the fiery streets with fiery interest.

Feeling uncomfortable from the foreign noise, Tsukishima pinches the collar of Hinata’s kimono with the tips of his fingers before he can run himself into separation. “We have to head for the shogun’s castle.”

_ “Castle?”  _ peaks Hinata’s interest. “The shogun lives in a castle?”

Tsukishima gives a bored nod. “Come on.”

“Ah, but,” the other starts to whine, petulantly glimpsing around the street, “I wanted to explore! Surely the shogun would allow that? We’re in  _ Kyoto,  _ Tsukishima!”

Having had enough, the blond irritatedly huffs out, “Fine. Make your own way to the castle. I’m going,” and stalks off into the lively crowd.

Hinata’s about to let it be - if Tsukishima doesn’t want to experience Kyoto nightlife then it’s  _ his  _ loss - before he remembers that he is utterly directionless, and without the guide of Tsukishima, he may end up back in Kashimura with no idea how he got there. That spurs him into yelping and rushing for the blond, struggling to follow his head protruding from the top of the throng.

_ “Ow!” _

So focused on his yellow target, Hinata stumbles over his own luggage and falls face first into a blue obstacle, bringing the two of them down. The fairly busy street allows for little room to maneuver as Hinata flounders to try and get up immediately, lest he lose Tsukishima, but he’s heavily tangled with the object below him that by the time he is up, the protruding head is gone.

Hinata groans. “What do I do  _ now?” _

“Apologise, maybe?”

“Huh?” _Who talked?_ A glance down tells him that it’s a man - seemingly the same age as Hinata, maybe older - clothed in a navy kimono _(so_ that _was the flash of blue!),_ a black hakama and an angry expression. _Oops._

“Sorry!” squeaks Hinata bashfully, extending a hand. “Here, let me help you up!”

The man directs a suspicious glance - and  _ wow,  _ thinks Hinata,  _ his eyes are such a pretty shade of blue -  _ towards his hand, but reaches for it anyway, and Hinata heaves him up. Blue-man mutters out a quiet thanks, bending down to pick something up.

“Is that a  _ katana?” _

Hinata strains his neck to look over the man’s shoulder and at the item in his hand, the elegant deep-blue saya and daintily patterned tsuka confirming Hinata’s guess: it’s definitely a katana, and this man is  _ definitely  _ a samurai.

He voices out his thoughts. “You’re a samurai!”

The opposing man shifts uncomfortably. “...Yes.”

“A real Kyoto samurai!”

He nods.

_ Is it this easy to find a samurai in Kyoto? How did Akiteru not bump into any?  _ “You’re a real-life samurai from Kyoto, in the flesh!” Hinata reiterates. Quiet thumps echo from the floor as his feet bounce rapidly.

Unnamed-samurai flicks his eyes down at the sound, brow twitching in agitation. “Yes. You’ve said that many times now. I’m gonna go-”

_ “Wait!”  _ Hinata shrieks, desperate to catch one last look at the weapon, his hands itching. “Can I…could I possibly touch it?”

A blink. “My katana?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

The abrupt and curt reply takes Hinata by surprise -  _ how could someone be so rude!  _ \- and the desire to hold a proper Kyoto katana forces him forward and he lunges for the sword, stumbling. The man yelps at the action, knuckles whitening as his grip tightens around the handle, seamlessly dodging Hinata’s attack.  _ Damn Kyoto samurai reflexes! _

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing?” he hisses, dodging yet another one of Hinata’s foolish grapples.

“Let me hold your katana!” Hinata demands, uselessly swinging his hand.

The man avoids a few reaches, bumping into a passerby. “Sorry- I- could you  _ stop?  _ I’m not letting you have my katana!”

“I don’t-  _ want-  _ your stupid katana-” Hinata huffs, despite still persistently scrambling for it (and he’s not sure why he’s still trying - he’s bound to see many cool katanas at the shogun’s castle - but the stranger’s offstandish behaviour seems to play a part in it), “I just- want- to  _ touch  _ it, you absolute buffoon, you-  _ ah!” _

The top of the blade snaps off.

Having finally grabbed hold of the sought after object, Hinata, not foreseeing the consequences, pulls for it, the saya, as expected, easily slipping off. The blade of the katana hits the ground with a thud as the man’s arms fling to the side. Luckily, not a single bystander is hurt by the katana. Unluckily, the katana is stepped on by a bystander.

Cloaked in red anger, the man immediately pushes all the blame onto Hinata. He doesn’t say anything, but the waves of hot fury rolling off him and the ire swarming his eyes is enough to convey the message.

So Hinata runs for it.

_ Oh God oh God oh God oh  _ God! his rational side screeches as he claws his way through the human blockade, bags thrashing about.  _ I kinda broke a samurai’s katana! What have I done?  _ Even his irrational side quakes in despair.

He’s what feels like free falling through the streets, taking slapdash turns when he can, before a hand twists the collar of his kimono, jerking him into a stop. “Oi, you nuisance,” drawls a familiar tone, “what do you think you’re doing? You’re not making your way to the shogun’s like  _ that.” _

“Tsukishima,” whimpers Hinata. “You’ve saved me! You really  _ do  _ care!”

“Gross,” Tsukishima deadpans, and releases his grip.

-

Hinata does not end up back in Kashimura, and instead, arrives safely in front of the gates to the shogun’s castle, and  _ wow,  _ is it a castle. The few connected white-walled buildings with grey roofs and fine detailing dwarf all buildings back home - even the daimyo’s dwelling seems tiny in memory. The impressive walls that contain everything inside and keep everything else outside loom over him, as well. 

_ But soon,  _ Hinata declares with a victorious grin,  _ it won’t be able to keep me outside! I’m really entering the shogun’s castle! _

“Without permission or invitation,” reminds Tsukishima from beside him - he seemed to have plucked the thoughts right out of his mind, and Hinata scowls in return. 

“Whatever,” he says, and starts to march towards the gate. “Let’s go, I wanna sleep now-”

Two crossed katanas halt Hinata in his steps, who squawks in shock. “Hey! What’s this supposed to mean?”

One guard speaks. “State your business!”

Hinata opens his mouth to talk, ready to proclaim that he’s an  _ honoured guest  _ (a lie, he knows, but standing in Kyoto and in front of the famous castle causes him to forget) before Tsukishima pulls forward, unable to handle second-hand embarrassment. “The shogun wrote,” he says, and flashes his invitation.

The other guard snatches it out of his hands, wary eyes skimming through the letter. “Go in,” he confirms, handing it back to Tsukishima, who swiftly pockets it and steps through the gates.

Hinata walks forward too, but, once again, two crossed katanas prevent him from moving any further.  _ “Why?”  _ he wails.  _ At least give me a warning! You could’ve cut off my hand! _

“Letter’s only for one.”

Hinata shoots Tsukishima a betrayed glare. “You didn’t write me into your letter?”

He gets a shrug in return. “Why should I have? You’re coming here on your own accord.”

The guards straighten their katanas, grips reinforced. The glasses-wearing  _ traitor  _ simpers, and he carries on walking through the front yard. “Tell Yamaguchi I say hi!”

“As if I’m heading back to Kashimura!” Hinata shouts, enraged. Okay! So he  _ didn’t  _ get invited here. So what? He’s here now! And Tsukishima, that damn  _ brat,  _ could have at least made his arrival smoother by writing him into the  _ stupid letter! _

“Let me in,” he pleads to the guards. “I promise you - I’m with him! I am! We came here together, didn’t we?”

The guards don’t budge.

“Let me in,” he demands. “I’m an honoured guest! I really am! Please!”

The guards don’t budge.

Hinata groans, torso drooping forward and arms swinging down. “I’ll climb the walls,” he threatens.

Silence follows.

“Let me  _ in!”  _ Hinata breaks, flailing his arms; if he won’t get through with words, brute force will have to work! He’s always been better at acting than talking, after all. The guards yelp - a small ball of orange fury attacking them was most likely  _ not  _ something they anticipated - and try to push the boy off, before a panicked voice stops all of them.

“What is going  _ on  _ out here?”

A young man with silver hair steps into view, furrowed brows laced in concern. His silk yukata kisses the floor as he takes cautious step after cautious step towards the squabble. “What’s happening?”

The guards leap back, obviously startled by the sudden appearance. “Excuse us, sir!” one hastily stammers out. “This kid wanted to get in without any invitation.”

_ “Kid?”  _ Hinata squeals, incredulous, though his high-pitched voice doesn’t help. Whatever, this isn’t his top priority (currently), and he diverts his attention towards the newcomer. Whoever he is, he’s obviously influential, and if Hinata plays this right, he might be granted access to the inner castle. “Um- uh, yeah, sir!” he starts. “I’m with Tsukishima - you know, the blond boy who just entered? The one wearing glasses? Anyway, him - but these guards won’t let me in!”

The guards in question hiss at him (something about  _ treating the man with more respect,  _ but Hinata glosses over it). The other brings his hand up to his chin in contemplation, scanning Hinata closely. “Tsukishima, huh?” he ponders.

Hinata nods with as much gusto as he can, and dons his best pleading expression, pouty mouth and everything. The man with silver hair gives him one last look, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile, and speaks. “Let the boy in.”

“But!” one guard immediately protests. “You don’t know who this is, will all due respect, sir! He could be dangerous!”

“It’s fine,” dismisses the man with a wave of his hand. “He says he is with Tsukishima, and I will gladly trust him.”

_ An angel,  _ Hinata thinks.

The newly-named angel beckons Hinata forward with a light hand, who steps forward and, finally without katanas blocking his path, onto castle grounds. Not without directing a victorious grin towards the guards first, Hinata gratefully follows his saviour down the castle grounds, sincerely thanking him.

“It’s fine,” responds the man, gliding slowly through the grounds. “You say you’re with Tsukishima, correct? I’ll take you to where he should be.”

_ God, I lucked out!  _ “Really, thank you,” Hinata repeats, striding alongside the man, before coming to a realisation and spouting out a quick, “I don’t even know your name! I’m Hinata Shouyou, from Kashimura!” paired with a swift bow.

The silver-haired man introduces himself as, “Sugawara Koushi, but just Suga is fine.”

“Suga-san! Thank you so much for saving me!” Hinata reiterates, now with a name.

“Please,” laughs Sugawara, as they arrive at the doorstep of a building, “you’ve thanked me enough. Come in.”

Upon quick scan, the building appears to be the largest and thus the main part of the shogun’s castle. The outside follows the theme of white and grey, and Hinata slides open the door (though it’s a lot sturdier than the ones at home, and requires a bit more force to push open), revealing a grand wooden room.

The floor is lined with tatami, and the walls are embellished with ceiling-to-floor paintings (although Hinata proudly thinks that none can compare to Yachi’s), and a raised section of the floor occupies the back of the room. It’s certainly unexpected, but the shogun’s castle seems… warm. Welcoming. Friendly.

_ Who could the shogun be? _

As he’s examining the room, trying to consume every single detail, his eyes land on the figures standing idly in the middle of the room. There are four of them, two with umber hair, one with a head of chestnut and the last one with short blond hair. Blond hair.  _ Tsukishima? _

“Tsukishima!”

The head of yellow hair whips around and sure enough, it’s Tsukishima, in all his cold glory; he raises an eyebrow at the sight of Hinata (who thinks, triumphantly,  _ that’s right, I didn’t run back home!),  _ before his eyes flick to the man at his side. The other three also turn to look, but as soon as they spot the pair, they all immediately fall to their knees, Tsukishima following them after a brief moment of confusion.

The brief moment is longer for Hinata, who stares at them, perplexed. His brain whirrs for an approximate two seconds, and he lets out a thrilled but bewildered giggle. “Oh! You don’t have to sit for me! I’m just someone from a small country town, after all.”

He hears a groan from Tsukishima, his shoulders raised to his cheeks in embarrassment.

Sugawara bursts into laughter. “Get up, get up,” he requests whilst trying to restrain himself, rubbing at his eyes. “I’ve told you lot that I’d rather you treat me as an equal - and we have a guest, too! Come on, get up.”

“But… sir,” one of the strangers starts, dark brown hair prickly on his head. Before he can finish, though, the one with carefully styled lighter hair stands up with ease, adjusting his hakama. He graces Hinata and Sugawara with a smile.

“I’m Oikawa,” is his introduction, bowing lightly, and then, motioning towards the remaining people sat down, “come on! The shogun said it’s not necessary to sit, listen to his commands!”

_ Shogun? _

They stand after slight deliberation, and the one who spoke first greets Hinata, rough voice strangely soothing. “Iwaizumi.”

The shortest of the four drops his head down, making a deep bow. “Sawamura Daichi,” he says, and then, as a kind afterthought, “but you can call me Daichi.”

Hinata hastily bows to all of them, stuttering out a fast introduction, but his head is stuck looping around the same point:  _ “You’re  _ the shogun?”

Sugawara nods, a grin plastered onto his face. “Well, kinda!”

“But- you’re so young! I mean,” and Hinata backtracks, trying to find his words, “you don’t seem that much older than me - not that I’m saying you’re unreliable, because you’re not, I think, just- I just-” and Tsukishima’s got a look on his face that could be interpreted as either being in incredible pain or as being severely humiliated, but is more likely a mix of the two- “I just. I mean. I just didn’t expect it!”

The shogun’s grin only grows wider, distinctly amused by the situation. “It’s fine, really! Anyway, it was entertaining.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking,” one of the guys with dark brown hair says - Hinata manages to pinpoint his name as Iwaizumi - “who’s the kid?”

_ “Kid?”  _ yelps said ‘kid’  _ (again? Do I really look that young?),  _ and Sugawara blows out a quiet chuckle - the shogun seems easily entertained - before explaining the situation, though there’s not much to explain.

One of them drops his jaw in shock after hearing the explanation. “Sir!” Daichi exclaims, clearly apprehensive, “I trust your judgement, really, but - this is really quite dangerous and rather irresponsible of you!”

Sugawara, again, waves his hand in dismissal (Hinata wonders how a shogun can be so seemingly flippant). “Please, Daichi, you don’t have to refer to me as sir! Didn’t I say that we should act as a group of equals? And Hinata here said he was a friend of Tsukishima’s. Can’t we just ask Tsukishima here to verify?”

As if on cue, Tsukishima grumbles out, “I wish you’d stayed in Kashimura.”

“Try and get rid of me again, you overgrown brat!” Hinata declares, proudly, because he  _ is  _ proud. His hands had always reached for the furthest place, the sun in the sky, the  _ top,  _ and God, is Kyoto the top for samurai; once the appetising chance of going to the capital of Japan made its appearance, Hinata couldn't let go, and now he's here, and he's going to become a  _ samurai.  _ The taste of his dream lingers on his tongue. Soon he'll be enjoying a full-course meal made from his ambitions.

"So why are you here?"

Or so he thinks.

The question slides it's way out from Oikawa, positioned with a hand on his hip and an intrigued cock to his brow. He's got a piercing gaze locked solely on Hinata, and the boy feels his head catch flame.

He gurgles out an incoherent noise of confusion as a reply.

“Why are you here?” reiterates the man. “I mean, you weren’t invited by anyone, really.”

“Okay!” Sugawara butts in, before anyone can say another word, feeling the slight tension - Hinata thanks him silently, and Oikawa simply relaxes, seemingly undisturbed. Looking to change the topic, the shogun then spouts out, “Anyway, I’m sure you’re wondering who these three intimidating men are, what with their lackluster introductions! They’re the top samurai of the shogunate.”

_ Top samurai of the shogunate?  _ Hinata muses, before the words click in his mind with a satisfying snap, and he realises what that means: these are the top samurai in  _ all of Japan,  _ probably. The best fighters, the best guards, and maybe the best teachers.

A dumbfounded gasp leaves his lips.

“You three are the top samurai?”

“We serve directly under the shogun himself,” supplies Daichi. “We have one more, but he’s not here at the moment.”

“Speaking of,” Sugawara pipes up, casting his eyes over the group, “where  _ is  _ Kageyama? I haven’t seen him all evening.”

“Sorry I’m late.”

The sudden voice causes everyone to turn around, Hinata especially -  _ why do I feel like I’ve heard this voice somewhere before?  _ Pitch-black hair sweeps over his eyes, and he brushes off his deep blue kimono, removing his shoes and stepping into the room. “I had to stop by Ukai’s.”

“Perfect timing!” Sugawara exclaims. “Kageyama, the longbow user I was talking about has arrived. Tsukishima, this is Kageyama; he specialises in the katana, but excels using the longbow, as well!” The shogun gestures towards the blond, and Hinata watches the newcomer flick his eyes over to Tsukishima. Weird. Those eyes too seem familiar; the rich indigo is far from a common eye colour here in Japan.

_ Wait. _

Sugawara continues. “Tsukishima came with an added package!” he jokes, and grabs Hinata by the shoulders, thrusting him forward. “This is Hinata!”

_ Wait! _

Kageyama’s face lights up with recognition, and then darkens again with fury.  _ “You!”  _ he spits, marching forward and fisting a hand into Hinata’s kimono. 

“Broken-katana man!” Hinata wheezes out, the tips of his feet scraping across the floor as his legs dangle uselessly in the air.  _ Oh, God. _

_ “Broken-katana man-  _ and whose fault is  _ that,  _ huh?” Kageyama asks (or, more accurately, bellows), shaking the redhead, who squeezes his eyes shut and coughs out a fast-paced blur of an apology:

“I am  _ so, so, so sorry  _ for breaking your katana, I didn’t mean it, honest, it was just my first time seeing a Kyoto samurai and I thought you were so cool and I just wanted to see it, really, _ please!” _

The shaking stills and Hinata’s ambitious enough to assume that he’s been forgiven, but when he pries open his own eyes and looks at the opposing man, all hopes of mercy drown themselves.

Fortunately, Daichi runs in, forcing the two of them apart.  _ “Kageyama!” _ he admonishes, taken aback. “What…?”

“...It doesn’t matter,” he grumbles after a moment’s consideration - maybe this is his way of being merciful? - arms folded across his broad chest (and Hinata can’t help but to notice that his katana’s no longer at his side. The guilt bubbles up in him). “What’s this idiot doing here, anyway? I thought we were only having one new person coming in.”

Sugawara steps in again to gracefully clarify the situation, though it’s just as short as before, and a similar reaction bursts its way out of Kageyama.

Just with added anger.

_ “Huh?”  _ he growls, fingers tapping into the crook of his arm whilst they remain crossed. “So this dumbass entered without an invitation or  _ anything?” _

(“That’s what Trashykawa was saying,” Iwaizumi calls out from the sidelines, to which Kageyama responds with a put-off look -  _ does he hate being compared to ‘Trashykawa’?) _

“So what if I don’t have an invitation? The shogun let me in himself, shouldn’t that be permission enough?” 

Kageyama blinks; the idea that he’s caught off guard by Hinata boosts the little fireball’s ego, and he relishes in the feeling. It’s short-lived, though, as the raven’s expression steels over, and he glares down at Hinata. 

“Sugawara-san is nice,” he begins, “and so he’ll let anyone in” - (Sugawara complains, “Hey! That’s the  _ shogun  _ you’re talking about! What kind of backhanded compliment…”) “- but that doesn’t mean everyone he lets in is all that worth it.”

He takes a step forward.

“What are you here for?”

Hinata’s been prepared for this question his entire life. “To become a samurai.”

A smirk sidles onto Kageyama’s face. “Let’s go then.”

_ Huh?  _

“Wait, what?” Hinata stammers out, unsure; does this mean he’s been accepted? Can he become a samurai now?

Is it really this easy?

Kageyama walks to the end of the long room, feet loudly padding across the floor, and reaches to his waist when his hand sweeps through thin air. “Shit,” he curses quietly, the irritated tick to his brow back, and he glances up. “Can I borrow someone’s katana?”

Iwaizumi chucks his katana over - a beautifully maroon weapon, the sheath inked with a simple golden plant - with reluctance, hand stiffening as he passes it. Daichi worriedly raises his voice. “You’re not really thinking about duelling him, are you?”

Kageyama catches the katana with ease, and he unsheathes it, scrutinising the blade of the sword. “He says he wants to become a samurai. With that much confidence, some skill should come with it. Let’s see it.”

Anxiety rushes to the top of Hinata’s body.

He’s definitely  _ not  _ prepared for this. He’s never even  _ used  _ a katana before; none of the townsfolk back home truly trusted him with one, and his parents would never allow him to have one! Oh God. His  _ parents.  _ What would his mother do if she was witnessing this? Him, green all throughout his body, about to fight an experienced Kyoto samurai? Would she faint? Would she drag him back home? Would she ground him indefinitely?

_ All of the above,  _ he thinks miserably. 

Hinata peeks at Tsukishima to his side. The bright candlelight in the room catches on his glasses, masking his eyes completely. As if he’d be any help, otherwise; he’s obviously refusing all eye contact, the second-hand embarrassment catching up to him.

Great. So what does he do? The rational side of Hinata’s brain is screeching at him to not fight, that this is stupid and foolish and, at the very least, the stage for his public humiliation; at the most, his deathbed.

“Can’t do it?”

The short remark overruns any of Hinata’s doubts (his calm, rational side sobs), and he pushes his way through the group, standing metres in front of Kageyama.  _ Can’t do it?  _ As if. Why wouldn’t he be able to spar? He’s surely been training as long as any of these people, if not longer! Why should he be scared of fighting? Isn’t this the platform for the reveal of his talent?

“Let’s fight, then,” Hinata says; noises of protest chime out, but the sound erodes into silence as he fixates his stare on Kageyama. He reaches into the sleeve of his kimono for his battered tanto, a slight wave of self-consciousness washing over him as he pulls it out - it must look  _ pathetic  _ in comparison to all the monstrous katanas - but he quickly shakes off the feeling. This isn’t the time. “I’m fighting with my tanto, though.”

Kageyama narrows his eyes at the weapon. “As long as it’s not rigged.”

The suggestion of him purposefully altering his weapon to give him an unfair advantage aims a rage-infused shot right at Hinata, and he snarls, wielding his tanto in hand. “Don’t you dare go easy on me.”

Ten digits flex over the handle of the katana. “As if I’d ever go easy on anyone.” 

Daichi’s voice finally breaks through the sound barrier that had surrounded Hinata, and, aware that he’s unable to stop them, he places firm rules. “Fine! I - and the shogun, of course -” Sugawara gives a small, affirmative nod - “don’t want any bloodshed here, so it’ll be the first to land three taps on either the torso or the back of the other person. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” Kageyama mutters.

“Sounds great!” Hinata asserts, declaration carrying itself a bit too loudly and a bit too strongly. He exhales, breath tremulous; this isn’t a foreign feeling. He’s nervous, and, despite his earlier convictions, scared, both things he’s far more acquainted with than he’d like to admit, and the urge to hurl rapidly rises.

Daichi blows out steadily. “Okay,” he says. “Start!”

Hinata’s heart thumps one beat,

then Kageyama’s running towards him.

The blade of the katana tilts forward, the candlelight catching the steel in a dangerous glimmer, and Hinata’s mind runs radio static. His hands spill heavy sweat, and the usual weight of his trusty tanto feels heavy and abnormal in his hand. He’s frightened - what should he  _ do? _

_ Dodge!  _ he screams at himself, watching the metal glint as it advances, but it’s a millisecond too late as the katana lightly taps his chest. One life down.

“That’s a point to Kageyama!” someone calls out from behind him, but the voice is muffled as his wildly beating heart suffocates all other noise.  _ Crap!  _ He’d gotten too caught up in his own barrage of anxiety that he’d become an easy target, an effortless point, and one step closer to his own downfall. So what does he do?

_ I won’t repeat my mistakes,  _ he thinks, firstly, as the sight of the katana comes swinging in again, and he leaps to the side, stumbling over his own feet. That’s right - he’s currently sparring. He has to think, of course, but not at the cost of his own loss.

Another swing comes down, and Hinata brings his tanto up in an attempt to block it, but it’s heavy and, more importantly, a sharp metal katana; his tanto is of wood, and the deep incision in his weapon wrings Hinata’s heart. He’s had this childish dagger since he was little, a present from his parents, and the gash in the tanto tears deep into Hinata himself.

_ But now’s not the time!  _ The thought flits across his mind again, for who knows what number time, and he, with as much strength and care as he can muster, dislodges his tanto from the collision. The wound is rather deep, but his weapon is thick, and it stays sturdy. His love for his tanto only grows.

_ I’ve got to dodge,  _ is his second realisation; if he can’t fend off the attacks, he must avoid them. So when Kageyama pivots on his heel, charging towards him one more time  _ (didn’t Daichi say something about avoiding bloodshed? Why is he running like he’s going in for the kill?)  _ Hinata checks for escape routes: his back is against the wall, so that way’s cut off. He could swing to the sides, but something in his gut is howling  _ no;  _ the fastest move is someplace else, and, without the time to question anything, he goes along with it.

Placing a hand on the floor, he propels himself forward with a push and sweeps through the legs of Kageyama. A lucky move, Hinata knows; Kageyama’s stance seemed a bit wider than before, maybe thrown off slightly by his anger, and if the ravenhead weren’t wearing his hakama, the move would have been impossible. Nonetheless, the adrenaline from completing a successful escape pumps throughout each vein of his body, and the furious look etched on Kageyama’s face is gratifying. 

An appreciative whistle pierces his ear. Was that Oikawa?

He doesn't have time to bathe in his triumph as Kageyama swiftly turns around, ready to attack once more. He seems even more irritated than before, though strangely enough, his technique doesn't appear to be affected. And sure, Hinata might not know a  _ lot  _ about proper samurai sparring - his sole long-standing partner had been a tree, after all - but he understands purposeful and skilled movement from all the times he's managed to sneak a peek at Akiteru's training.

This is the first legitimate samurai he's ever had the honour of fighting, and he's only been duelling for a short length of time, but Hinata witnesses Kageyama's succinct motions and deliberate slices and he can't help but to think  _ ah. This is one of the best. _

Hinata's heart lets out a thrilled thud.

There is nothing better than knowing he is fighting someone skilled, someone at the top of his class, someone unrelenting with his actions. The carnivorous side of him wants to steal, steal, steal; consume everything he sees and make it his own; strive for improvement as much as he can. A small fraction of him wants to sit and let his eyes feast on the talent.

The  _ entirety  _ of him knows that he has to save that for later -  _ again!  _ His mind sidetracks too much - and he whips his legs around when Kageyama makes a calculated shot, evading the hit. It’s intense, he’s just barely missing the edge of the sword, but Hinata is nothing if not nimble; he’s small and agile on his feet, and can run for as long as his legs will carry him (which is a long, long time).

As he’s adjusting himself in his new position, a brief motion flashes in the corner of his eye; Kageyama alters the grip on the handle, his fingers impatiently tapping on the handle of the katana. Then comes his third notion:  _ this is a different katana.  _ He had (kinda) broken the previous one, so it’s presumably being repaired, and although he  _ does  _ still feel bad, this presents an alluring opportunity. The katana is new to its holder, and no matter how skilled Kageyama is, it  _ should  _ take him a bit to get used to, so whilst his grip’s still weak, why doesn’t Hinata utilise it?

He dives to the side as Kageyama swings at him, tumbling into a somersault to land on his feet with a skid beside Kageyama. The taller man turns, lunging with his katana-wielding arm outstretched, and Hinata watches with a keen eye, waiting for the right time, soon, soon…  _ now! _

With a duck, he wedges his tanto in the crevice of Kageyama’s hand, between the tsuka and the flesh of his thumb, and  _ pulls,  _ but it’s no use - Kageyama’s grip may be light and not as stable as it could be, but it’s still firm, an assertive clasp around the handle of the weapon. Of course. Hinata didn’t expect he’d lose the katana that easily.

He topples back himself from the force of his own tug as his tanto is ejected. Collapsing onto his back, he tries to roll away, but Kageyama’s legs cage him in and he feels another (heavier, this time) poke onto the middle of his chest. That’s another life.

_ One more left,  _ Hinata registers, slipping underneath the man’s legs before he loses his last life too quickly. 

Eyes darting to all corners of the room, he tries to think: what can he do? What should he do to land a solid hit, to score a single point?

A comment, low and hesitant, shatters his train of thought. “You want to become a samurai.”

Hinata redirects his gaze to the man in front of him. “Yeah,” he breathes out, skittish; his legs are shaky and this could all be a ploy, a distraction tactic so Kageyama can steal the win. Yet, something tells him that this isn’t the case, that he wouldn’t do that. “And what about it?”

“Nothing,” Kageyama responds, and he’s not moving, just standing, turned away. His back is an irresistible target, and Hinata wants to bolt and tap him, but his feet are anchored to the ground and honestly, it seems too easy. All of Hinata’s attention is drawn anyway when Kageyama backtracks. “Actually. Why?”

“Why?” echoes Hinata.  _ Why?  _ Why does he want to become a samurai? A surprisingly uncommon question, but, nevertheless, the answer slips its way out smoothly enough. “Because it’s cool,” he says, “because it’s fun.”

Kageyama’s shoulders immediately rise, tense, and Hinata doesn’t need to see his face to understand that he’s fuming, evidently provoked, but he doesn’t know  _ why.  _ The raven spins around, katana clasped in two hands, brows downturned even more so than before.  _ Run!  _ rings out in his head in bold red lettering, but he’s fused to the tatami floor and before he can even register it, his opponent is a metre in front of him, the katana a millimetre away from his chest.

It’s just quiet eye contact for what feels like an eternity but is in reality only a few seconds, the sound of their heavy pants weaving throughout the room. Hinata stands, unsure of what to do. He feels like a deer pinned down by a predator, and watching his reflection in the ocean of Kageyama’s eyes is surreal.

The katana isn’t being pressed down. Why isn’t it being pressed down? Is Kageyama holding back? Is he trying to hopelessly draw out the length of the spar? Whatever the reason (though he sincerely hopes it’s not the former), it only means one thing: he hasn’t lost yet. So he steadies himself, and, as fast as he can, dips down. This will be his escape.

A sharp sting on his right cheek stops him, and he reaches up to feel a cold liquid -  _ blood? _ \- before a rather heavy hit lands on the centre of his chest. He looks down - the tip of the katana rests where the point of contact had been, and when he looks up, Kageyama is staring down with an indescribable look on his face.

Last life gone.

He retracts the katana. “Was that fun?” he asks, though it’s rhetorical and carries a deep bitterness.

Hinata opens his mouth to answer, but Daichi and Sugawara rush in, Iwaizumi just a step behind. “Hinata! Are you okay? You’ve been cut on your cheek!” Daichi exclaims.  _ Weird,  _ Hinata thinks, dizziness lacing his head,  _ they don’t seem to be surprised at the outcome. _

_ Maybe they expected me to lose. _

The thought pops up in his mind, but strangely enough, it doesn’t upset him much at all. Maybe they expected him to lose. Then he will train, and get better, and he will do the unexpected.

He turns to where Kageyama is handing the katana back to its owner, getting ready to leave. “Yeah!” Hinata answers - so what if it’s a rhetorical question, he’ll answer if he wants. “I had fun. Sparring was fun.”

Kageyama doesn’t stop walking. “Good for you.”

“Sparring with you was fun,” Hinata carries on, regardless, “so I’ll fight you again one day, and I’ll beat you  _ no matter what.  _ So…” and the words come out without him even thinking about it, like an unstoppable waterfall, “you better be there.”

Kageyama stops, silent, calculating, and lets out a short exhale, shoulders relaxing just a little. “Okay,” he says with, and Hinata notes this with immense pride, what seems to be an inkling of joy. “I’ll be waiting.”

He slips on his sandals and takes his leave.

Sugawara is dabbing gently at his face with the corner of his yukata when Hinata comes out of his small trance (talking to the other man is like changing seasons; it’s smooth, and natural, and practically meant to be), and the redhead hurriedly brushes away the shogun’s hand. “Ah! Sugawara-san, please; don’t dirty your clothes for me!”

“Don’t be silly,” he scolds, and carries on patting Hinata’s cheek gently, the white cloth speckling red. “With a good wash this will come out. Anyway, it seems like the cut isn’t too deep; it’ll heal up quickly enough! Look at that, the bleeding’s already stopped.”

Iwaizumi rumbles from behind, “What was he thinking, going all out on a kid,” and then, with a piercing stare at Oikawa, “it’s like he took a page out of your book.”

_ “Rude!”  _ Oikawa yelps, but his eyes are clouded with a thoughtful glaze.

Daichi claps a hand on Hinata’s back, and the boy doubles over from the hit -  _ God,  _ samurai hit hard. “Good spar, though!” he grins. “You two had me anxious for the results! Was this your first one?”

“Uh…yeah,” Hinata realises, recounting the fight. It had been exhilarating, really; he’d never felt anything like it, the overwhelming rush of adrenaline washing over him. He touches his cheek again, feeling the ridge of the scar, thinking over the last point, before it registers in his head: this was his first ever battle scar. His first ever  _ battle scar!  _ The thought bounces back and forth in his head, and he cranes his neck to find Tsukishima and gloat.

Gold eyes lock with his. Tsukishima’s face is caked in a blur of emotion, so much so that it’s indecipherable, a look Hinata has seen many times before. 

“It’s late. Let’s get you two to a room to rest,” Sugawara says, glancing back at Tsukishima. 

Hinata’s jaw drops in shock. “But- Suga-san- I mean, sir- I didn’t even get an invite!” he states glumly - sure, he confidently refuted Kageyama earlier on, but if the shogun doesn’t want him here, he’s in no position to disagree. 

Sugawara scoffs. “Don’t call me sir! Suga-san is  _ fine.  _ Plus, I let you in, didn’t I? Anyway, your fighting just then shows promise! With proper training, I’m sure you’ll get far. And we always have room for one more.”

Tears well up in his eyes, the gratefulness flooding Hinata’s heart immeasurable. “Thank you,” he weeps. He gets to stay in Kyoto. He gets to become a  _ samurai.  _ The sight of his family flashes through his mind, and he feels a stab of longing; if only he could tell them about this.

He shakes his head -  _ soon, soon he will be able to tell them -  _ orange curls flapping, and readies himself. Starting from tomorrow, he will be training with real samurai - samurai of the  _ shogunate,  _ no less. Starting from tomorrow, he’ll finally become someone.

Tomorrow is a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the longest piece of writing ive ever written.... does it show lol   
> thank you for reading! kudos n comments appreciated, as always!  
> if u want to talk to me heres my [twitter](https://twitter.com/asephear)

**Author's Note:**

> i promise kaggy will appear next chapter hehe!!  
> chapter updates will be irregular, im sorry! comments are appreciated but ofc do not pressure urself into commenting!! thank u for reading this, honestly <3
> 
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/asephear) if u would like to talk hehe


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